Really, it’s not.
Although, if Chalene Johnson asked us to jump off a bridge…I’m pretty sure some of us might just do it.
While wearing some fierce pairs of bedazzled sweatpants, naturally.
But don’t worry, she’s way to positive to ever encourage that sort of thing. The only jumps she requests from us are of the air jack variety.
And trust me, there were plenty of air jacks at Camp Do More 2011.
What is Camp Do More, you ask?
Think of it as cheer camp, for adults, but with much more hair extensions, self tanner and rhinestones.
Now do you understand why I went?
And seriously — it’s not a cult. More like family of focused, positive, high-energy people who share a passion for fitness and personal development. And perhaps even more importantly, t-shirt shredding.
I was lucky enough to be placed on the Pink team, affectionately known as Team Pink-a-Boo. Holla!
I have to admit, I nearly didn’t wear the tutu, or any of the other fab accessories acquired during my last-minute shopping spree the night before camp. While neon leg warmers and pink princess headbands seemed like awesome fashion choices at the time, as soon as I arrived in Orange County, I feared I may have gone slightly…um…overboard.
Yes. Me going overboard. I know that’s really difficult to imagine, but I ask that you squint your eyes, turn on some Spice Girls music and try your best to picture it.
Or you could always just look at this photo.
Yes, subtle just happens to be my middle name. How did you know?
OK, technically my middle name is Margaret…but I think the name means subtle in some other language or something.
Alright, alright…it means “pearl” in Greek. Close enough.
But I digress. After checking into the hotel, visions solidifying my reputation as the “crazy girl” at camp danced through my pretty little head as I gazed down at my tutu and slowly whispered “What was I thinking?”.
My roomie Courtney, a Camp Do More veteran, assured me that tutus were not only acceptable…they were encouraged.
Encouraged? I’m sorry…I thought I had only signed up for Camp Do More 2011? No one had informed me I would be arriving in my own personal pink, sparkly promise land.
I decided to go for it, as I’ve been wanting to wear a tutu for ages.
My dream of wearing one was slightly postponed as I was kicked out of ballet class as a child.
Yes, you read that right. Kicked out.
Homey don’t mess around.
In my defense, no one had ever told me that boys could take ballet lessons.
Apparently, our instructor didn’t appreciate my constructive criticism towards Jeremy, the only male student in the class.
And so, at the ripe old age of five, I was removed from the dance studio. Our teacher felt I wasn’t “mature enough” for the environment.
I think it’s safe to say, that a week shy of my twenty-seventh birthday, I was finally mature enough to wear my tutu.
At least I hope so.
On a side note…I do think the Miley Cyrus rhinestone flower does add a touch of class. I mean, without it, this ensemble would have just been….well…tacky.
Donning my prized tutu was liberating. The shackles had been taken off my feet, and I was free to dance, roundhouse kick, shimmy, tuck jump and perform jewel encrusted sumo burpees until I was
blue pink in the face.
Yet halfway through the sweatiest body pump you ever did see, I came to an immediate halt.
I saw something out of the corner of my eye that was green, fluffy and made of…tule.
At that moment, I came to a devastating realization. I was no longer the lone tutu-wearer.
Under normal circumstances, I would have burst into tears…but I was distracted by a bedazzled pair of high-heeled Nikes that just happened to be strolling by.
I told you it was my promise land.
It turns out my pink tutu of fabulousness wasn’t as original as I had hoped…I saw no less than four other tutus on the first day.
The girl I spotted wearing camouflage fairy wings covered in glitter? Now she was original.
It’s looking like I’m going to need to seriously up the ante for next year.
I’m currently considering a metallic pink unitard, and possibly something that incorporates fiberoptics. But these are just ideas I’m tossing around…it’s not like I’ve done conceptual costume sketches or anything.
Alright…there might be a few sketches floating around.
Shut up, Scott.
Yet Camp Do More is so much more than fitness and fashion. It’s about friendships, personal development and achieving your biggest dreams and goals.
It’s about being your best self.
It’s also about hair whipping contests.
This photo was taken during the hair whipping contest at our dance party. Yes, we had a dance party, which essentially, is like a night at the club on steroids.
But back to the dance. It was like being in a sweaty, sparkly, sassy, balls to the walls music video. Just ask my brother.
My little brother is in the military and stationed in Southern California. In a serendipitous turn of events, he was able to come pay me a visit.
On the night of the dance, as luck would have it.
I believe his exact words were, “You people are crazy.”
Apparently, normal people don’t spontaneously engage in hip hop dance battles?
If popping and locking in heels and a cocktail dress is wrong, then I definitely don’t want to be right.
My brother, who just happens to be a tough as nails member of the United States military, is no stranger to fitness. When I explained that we were exercising for six hours a day, he was not impressed. When I told tales of it being so hot up in da club that pregnant woman were advised to leave the room during workouts, he didn’t blink an eye. When I showed him the blisters on my feet he shrugged and said “I’ve seen worse.”
But when I removed my jacket, he uttered a sentence sweeter than a Chocolate Peanut Butter P90X Protein Bar.
“Katrina…you’ve got guns.”
Let me just pause for a minute to say that my brother is pretty much a flawless physical specimen whose body could be considered more dangerous than an AK-47.
I, on the other hand, have thighs that bear a striking resemblance to the jello salads known only to potlucks in Minnesota church basements.
But in that instant, my hard work had paid off — hearing him say those words made the entire trip worth it.
My brother has stamina, endurance, strength and dedication.
He is not a quitter.
When life hands him lemons, he uses them as a flotation device to swim himself back to victory.
The man gets paid to skydive, shoot guns, and save people’s lives.
This same man lasted no more than ten minutes at the Camp Do More dance.
Yes, we are that hard-core.
And next year? In 2012 we will be even more intense.
I didn’t think this was even possible. But then they announced that next year’s camp will take place at the most magical place on earth.
That’s right, I’m going to be Turbo Kicking at Disneyland. Hopefully with Donald Duck, although I’d settle for Goofy in a pinch.
Please, try to contain your jealousy. It’s of the utmost importance that you remain focused.
You see, I’m on a mission to find the pinkest, sparkliest Buzz Lightyear costume I can get my hands on, and I need your help.
I originally wanted to go as Woody, but I figured yelling out “To Infinity, and Beyond!” during the punches and kicks section would be far more intimidating than “There’s a snake in my boots!”
And really, when a sweaty, 27-year-old woman is dressed head to toe in sparkly pink plastic, it’s all about the intimidation factor.
Take my word for it — I did get kicked out of ballet class, after all.
Psst! Wanna come to camp with me next year? Sign up here!